Building a Bridge

James Martin

• Éditeur: HarperOne
• Année: 2018
• ISBN:
  9780062873446
• Sujet: Theology & Religion
• Sous-sujet: Christian Denominations

"A treasure...a wise and entertaining book that should appeal to the spiritual pilgrim in all of us, no matter what the faith and no matter whether believer or nonbeliever."

– Chicago Tribune

The New York Times bestselling author of The Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Everything and Jesus: A Pilgrimage turns his attention to the relationship between LGBT Catholics and the Church in this loving, inclusive, and revolutionary book.

A powerful call for tolerance, acceptance, and support—and a reminder of Jesus' message for us to love one another. In this moving and inspiring book, Martin offers a powerful, loving, and much-needed voice in a time marked by anger, prejudice, and divisiveness.

On the day after the Orlando nightclub shooting, James Martin S.J.posted a video on Facebook in which he called for solidarity with our LGBT brothers and sisters. "The largest mass shooting in US history took place at a gay club and the LGBT community has been profoundly affected, " he began. He then implored his fellow Catholics—and people everywhere—to "stand not only with the people of Orlando but also with their LGBT brothers and sisters." Father Martin's post went viral and was viewed more than 1.6 milliontimes.

Adapted from an addresshe gave to New Ways Ministry, a group that ministers to and advocates for LGBT Catholics, Building a Bridge provides a roadmap for repairing and strengthening the bonds that unite all of us as God's children. Martin uses the image of a two-way bridgeto enableLGBT Catholics and the Church to come together in a call to end the "us" versus "them" mentality. Turning to the Catechism, he draws on the three criteria at the heart of the Christian ministry—"respect, compassion, and sensitivity"—as a model for how the Catholic Church should relate to the LGBT community.

WINNER OF THE LIVING NOW BOOK AWARD IN SOCIAL ACTIVISM/CHARITY.

A Two-Way Bridge

Respect

First of all, respect means, at the very least, recognizing that the LGBT community exists, and extending to it the same recognition that any community desires and deserves because of its presence among us.

In the wake of the Orlando tragedy in 2016, some church leaders spoke of the event without ever mentioning the terms LGBT or gay. This revealed a certain failure to acknowledge the existence of this community. But this is not a Christian model, for Jesus recognizes all people, even those who seem invisible in the greater community. In fact, he reaches out specifically to people on the margins. Catholics, therefore, have a responsibility to make everyone feel visible and valuable.

Recognizing that LGBT Catholics exist has important pastoral implications. It means carrying out ministries to this community, which some dioceses, parishes, and schools already do well. Examples include celebrating Masses with LGBT groups, sponsoring diocesan and parish outreach programs, and in general helping LGBT Catholics feel that they are part of the church, that they are welcomed and loved.

Some Catholics have objected to this approach, saying that any outreach implies a tacit agreement with everything anyone in the LGBT community says or does. This is an unfair objection because it is raised with virtually no other group. If a diocese sponsors, for example, an outreach group for Catholic business leaders, it does not mean that the diocese agrees with every value of corporate America. Nor does it mean that the church has sanctified everything every businessman or businesswoman says or does. No one suggests that. Why not? Because people understand that the diocese is trying to help the members of that group feel more connected to their church, the church they belong to, by virtue of their baptism.

* * *

Let me pause here to underline the importance of baptism in light of this discussion. “Holy Baptism is the basis of the whole Christian life,” says the Catechism in a marvelous phrase, “the gateway to life in the Spirit” (No. 1213). Its importance cannot be overestimated. Baptism incorporates us into the church.

It is essential for all Christians, including LGBT Catholics, to grasp the significance of this sacrament in their lives and how it seals their place in the church.

Not long ago, at the start of a Sunday Mass at my local parish in New York City, the presider announced that there would be a baptism. The priest did a fine job of weaving the baptismal rite into the larger context of the Mass, and at the appointed moment, he pronounced the ancient formula, “I baptize you, Ellie, in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit,” as he poured water over the child’s head. Then he held the child aloft and said, “Welcome to the Christian community!”

At that moment, the church organ boomed out the first few notes of the Easter hymn “The Strife is O’er,” which begins with a loud “Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!”

And I thought, Yes! This is a life-changing moment, for the child, for the family, for the church, and for the entire universe. A new person has been welcomed into the church. The heavens are indeed shouting “Alleluia!”

Immediately I thought of LGBT people and how often people tell them that they don’t belong in the church. But Christ himself called them into the church—forever. So when LGBT people report that someone has told them they are not part of the church, I often say, “You were baptized. You have as much of a place in your church as the pope, your local bishop, or me.”

Part of respect is treating LGBT Catholics as full members of the church, by virtue of their baptism.

* * *

Second, respect means calling a group what it asks to be called. On a personal level, if someone says, “I prefer to be called Jim instead of James,” you would naturally listen and call him by the name he prefers. It’s common courtesy.

It’s the same on a group level. We don’t use the antiquated and even offensive term “Negroes” any longer. Why? Because that group feels more comfortable with other names, like “African Americans” or “blacks.” Recently, I was told that “disabled persons” is not as acceptable as “people with disabilities.” So now I use the latter term. Why? Because it is respectful to call people by the name they choose. Everyone has a right to the name they wish to be called by.

This is not a minor concern. In the Jewish and Christian traditions, names are important. In the Old Testament, God gives Adam and Eve the authority to name the creatures (Gen. 2:18–23). God also renames Abram as Abraham (Gen. 17:4–6). A name in the Hebrew Scriptures stands for a person’s identity; knowing a person’s name meant, in a sense, that you knew the person, that you had a certain intimacy with the person, even that you possessed a kind of power over the person. That is one reason why, when Moses asks to know God’s name, God says, “I am who I am” (Exod. 3:14–15)—in other words, as my Old Testament professor explained to our class, “None of your business.”

Later, in the New Testament, Jesus renames Simon as Peter (Matt. 16:18; Jn. 1:42). The persecutor Saul renames himself as Paul (Acts 13:9). Names are important in our church today as well. The first question a priest or deacon asks the parents at an infant’s baptism in the Catholic Church is “What name do you give this child?”

Because names are important, church leaders are invited to be attentive to how they name the LGBT community. So let us lay to rest antiquated phrases like “afflicted with same-sex attraction,” which no LGBT person I know uses, and even “homosexual person,” which seems overly clinical to many. Besides, how will the LGBT community be able to listen if the church persists in using language offensive to their ears?

On this topic, as on all topics, we can look to Jesus for guidance.

Think about the ways in which Jesus spoke to the people of his time. Especially as recorded in the Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke), Jesus used language his followers could understand, words and phrases tailored to their own situations.

When he first meets the disciples who are fishing by the Sea of Galilee, for example, he doesn’t speak to them as a carpenter would—by saying, for example, “Let us construct the house of God” or “Let us lay the foundations of the reign of God.”

Instead, Jesus the carpenter speaks to them in their language, the language of fishermen: “Follow me,” he says, “and I will make you fish for people” (Mk. 1:16–20; Matt. 4:18–22).

Dialogue begins by recognizing how to speak with another person. We need to be especially attentive to this with the LGBT community. As the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops says in their pastoral letter Always Our Children, written in 1997 and addressed to the parents of LGBT Catholics, “Language should not be a barrier to building trust and honest communication.”

There is also an overlooked irony here: the term “same-sex attraction” is the one currently favored by some traditionalist Catholics, who object to using “gay” or “LGBT” because those terms supposedly identify a person only by their sexual urges. But this is precisely what the term “same-sex attraction” does. And, for good measure, “same-sex attraction” includes the word “sex.” By that yardstick, it is hardly an improvement. I have always wondered if the resistance to “gay” and “LGBT” stems from the fact that these terms are the ones preferred by LGBT people, and so using them is considered a form of “caving.”

I’m not the only one who supports calling people by the names they choose. In 2017, Cardinal Blase Cupich, the archbishop of Chicago, said, in response to a question at a public lecture:

We have always wanted to make sure that we start the conversation by saying that all people are of value and their lives should be respected and that we should respect them. That is why I think that the terms “gay” and “lesbian” and “LGBT,” all of those names that people appropriate to themselves, should be respected. People should be called the way that they want to be called rather than us coming up with terms that maybe we’re more comfortable with. So it begins with that.

Let us, then, lay to rest phrases that no one in the LGBT community uses. Instead let’s listen to what our gay brothers and lesbian sisters and transgender siblings prefer to name themselves. Instead of prescribing what names to use, though “gay,” “lesbian,” “LGBT,” and “LGBTQ” are among the most common, I invite church leaders to recognize that people have a right to name themselves. Using those names is part of respect.

And if Pope Francis, and several of his cardinals and bishops, can use the word gay, as they have done several times during his papacy, so can the rest of the church.

* * *

Respect also means acknowledging that LGBT Catholics bring unique gifts to the church—both as individuals and as a community. These gifts build up the church in special ways, as Saint Paul wrote when he compared the People of God to a human body (1 Cor. 12:12–27). Each body part is important: the hand, the eye, the foot. In fact, as Paul said, it is the parts of the body that “we think less honorable” that deserve even greater respect.

Many LGBT people have indeed felt “less honorable” in the church. At a recent parish talk the moderator asked all the LGBT Catholics in the room to raise their hands. A forest of hands went up. Then he said, “How many of you have ever felt excluded in the church?” Not one hand was lowered.

Following Saint Paul, it is to these beloved members and to their great gifts that we should pay even greater respect. “Those members of the body that we think less honorable we clothe with greater honor,” he wrote.

Consider the many gifts brought by LGBT Catholics who work in parishes, schools, chanceries, retreat centers, hospitals, and social service agencies. Let us “honor” them, as Saint Paul says. To take several examples, some of the most gifted music ministers I have known in my almost thirty years as a Jesuit have been gay men who have brought tremendous joy to their parishes, week in and week out, during every liturgical season. For several years, I worked with a lesbian woman in a Jesuit ministry who brought immense reserves of smarts, talent, and good humor to the job. One of my favorite spiritual directors—that is, people who help you notice the presence of God in your prayer and your daily life—was a gay man. Another was a lesbian. Their wise counsel and patient listening helped me more than I can express. Faithful, thoughtful, intelligent, committed, and loving LGBT people have enriched my spiritual life in countless ways.

The whole church is invited to meditate on how LGBT Catholics build up the church with their presence, in the same way that elderly people, teenagers, women, people with disabilities, various ethnic groups, or any other groups build up a parish or a diocese. And although it is usually wrong to generalize, we can still pose the question: What might those gifts be?

Many, if not most, LGBT people have endured, from an early age, misunderstanding, prejudice, hatred, persecution, and even violence, and therefore often feel a natural compassion toward the marginalized. Their compassion is a gift. They have often been made to feel unwelcome in their parishes and in their church, but they persevere because of their vigorous faith. Their perseverance is a gift. They are often forgiving of clergy and other church employees who have treated them like damaged goods. Their forgiveness is a gift. Compassion, perseverance, and forgiveness are all gifts.

One could add gifts that are applicable to more specific ministries. Recently, a woman who works with people with physical disabilities told me that she believed LGBT people make some of the best outreach workers with that population. Why? As a social worker, she surmised this: “LGBT people have been judged for so long that they approach people in ministry free of any judgment.” In her experience, many people tend to judge those with physical disabilities. LGBT people, in her experience, seemed freer of a reflexive need to judge.

LGBT Catholics are also some of the most effective evangelists for Catholicism in their communities. At a parish talk, a lesbian woman who was asked to respond to my lecture drew appreciative laughs from the crowd when she said that the most difficult challenge was not coming out as a lesbian to her Catholic friends but “coming out as a Catholic to her lesbian friends.” She serves as a kind of ambassador for Catholicism to her LGBT friends, some of whom harbor suspicions about the church. For her, however, it is a home. At the same time, she helps the church reflect on the place of LGBT people in its midst. Another lesbian friend of mine called this process “double evangelization.”

* * *

Let me add another gift: that of celibate priests and brothers who are gay, as well as chaste members of men’s and women’s religious orders who are gay or lesbian.

Now, there are many reasons why almost no gay clergy, and almost no gay and lesbian members of religious orders, are public about their sexuality. Among these reasons are the following: they are private people; their bishops or religious superiors ask them not to speak about it publicly; they themselves are uncomfortable with their sexuality; or they fear reprisals from parishioners or those with whom they minister.

But there are hundreds, perhaps thousands, of holy and hardworking gay clergy, and gay and lesbian members of religious orders, who live out their promises of celibacy and vows of chastity and help to build up the church.

Sometimes my mentioning this surprises people. O...